Louisiana Laydown

HE FOLDS

Fargo slipped the Colt free of its holster, keeping it pointed beneath the table at the old man. “Put down the peashooter, mister,” he said. “Put it down and walk away, or they’re going to carry you out of here on a slab.”

The old man lunged forward, pointing the derringer at Parker’s head. “Shut up, Fargo. I’m getting out of here.” He shoved his hostage. “Get going.”

“Hold it, mister,” Fargo snapped. “Don’t make it worse than it already is.”

He noted that for a man in a life-threatening situation, Parker seemed calm. Time for another gamble, he thought.

The old man turned back to snarl something more and Fargo shouted, “Move, Parker!”

Parker lunged out of the way, and Fargo cut loose with the Colt. The slugs took the old man in the knees, and he screamed as he fell.

Fargo jumped to his feet and aimed the Colt at the prone man, who was moaning and clutching at his legs. He put a boot down on the derringer. “See there,” Fargo said, after the shouting had died down. “I guess the kid was right. Sooner or later, everyone lays down. Guess it was your turn.”